


Perhaps there's hope for Beacon Hills yet

by ChristianJ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristianJ/pseuds/ChristianJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just couldn't believe his luck: He had the exclusive privilege of sitting next to the 'legendary' werewolf Derek Hale on a late night reconissance mission following reports of ominous and varied supernatural elements from the county police. Seriously; the Universe must hate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Star Wars... Really?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I haven't actually written much in the way of fan fiction before, this is very much my first delve. I admit, I haven't really ventured that much in to 'fandom' in general - I still get a bit confused by the whole concept of 'shipping'! ^_^.
> 
> The inspiration for this story came to me idly during a conversation with a group of friends, so the initial direction may not be that immediate.

Stiles just couldn't believe his luck: He had the exclusive privilege of sitting next to the 'legendary' werewolf Derek Hale on a late night reconnaissance mission following reports of ominous and varied supernatural elements from the county police. Seriously; the Universe must hate him. What had made it worse was that he hadn't even been warned about the dark, or the cold wind, or the fact that they would be sat outdoors in the damp for at least two hours. In the forest. Alone. With Derek - who held an unwarranted and deep hatred of him.

Derek had his eyes closed for most of the time - that's why they were out here - listening for any suspicious noises. He had neglected, however, to mention why Stiles had to be there. Stiles assumed that he must've been a sadist or something. Why else would he feel the need to torture one of the only people in the town who he could actually talk to about his werewolf-y experiences?

All of this idle sitting had driven Stiles mad. He'd used almost all of the battery on his phone playing games, untied and retied his shoelaces dozens of times, paced all around the forest and even attempted ill-fated conversations with Derek. Following one of his many explorations deeper into the forest, he laid his back against a nearby tree, crossed one leg over the other, and let out an elongated yawn. He posed "Anything on the radar, mission control?" to a meditative Derek, receiving a "Hmmph" in return. Not even a word. Just some weird exhalation. Great. "Ahhh... You see, your moody grunts and narrow eyebrows don't work on me anymore, Derek. I'm going to need a little bit more of a response from the guy who's had me waiting here for hours." Stiles produced a caricature of Derek's frowny, tough-guy face as he waited for a response.

Derek opened his eyes and moved to face Stiles, but retained a neutral face. "Funny. You're not scared of the... Big. Bad. Wolf? I've read all the stories. How brave you must be. Perhaps that's why I called you out here?". Satisfied with his retort, Derek followed with a flash of fangs and a low growl.

Stiles nodded mockingly, feigning laughter "Gooood one. I didn't know you even had a concept of literature - and besides," Stiles crossed his arms, mustering his best Yoda impression "Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate leads to suffering."

"Huh," Derek shifted, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head, but retaining his typical unimpressed expression "Star Wars... Really?"

"Whoa, dude. You're like blowing my mind right now," Stiles, energetic as ever, gesticulated an explosion from his head, "You actually know some pop culture!? Who are you?" prodding Derek in the arm with a single, inquisitive finger "What have you done with Derek?"

Derek scoffed at this, brushing Stiles' hand away. "There's no need for celebration, twerp. They were my father's favorite movies. Practically my childhood." A brief moment of wistfulness appeared on Derek's face before he ground the back of his teeth, resuming his dismissive expression.

After a few minutes of blank, borderline existential stares and the ambience of wind against the tree tops, Stiles eventually broke the silence with a devilish grin "You're totally a Jar Jar fan, aren't you?".

Hearing Stiles' obviously sarcastic tone, Derek replied "Yeah, almost as much as your love for little Anakin - you have the impression right down to that whiny voice of his.", breaking into a small smirk.

Stiles was truly astounded by what he'd heard; He'd anticipated one of Derek's typical arrogant displays of aggressive 'banter'. He delivered, of course, but it almost felt as if they were having an actual conversation with actual joking. And Star Wars, like, his favorite series of all time was being referenced to his face. By Derek. He'd tried for years to get Scott to watch at least the original trilogy - what's not to love, right? They're classics! But here he was, essentially accusing Derek, of all people, of heresy. He shrugged slightly "Yeah, right. You lo-ove this whiny voice. Come on, then. Who's your favorite Star Wars character, seriously?" He was eager to capitalise on this seemingly 'once in a lifetime' conversation. Finally, he thought, perhaps there's hope for Beacon Hills yet. And the chance to talk to Derek, of course. Maybe they could finally drop some of the animosity - It was getting hard to think of witty comebacks being on his toes after all this time.

"I haven't given it much thought," Derek took a moment to contemplate. "I suppose it'd have to be Chewbacca." He could see Stiles failing to conceal his amusement with a frown, so he felt compelled to explain. "When me and my sister were little, it always seemed like our Dad was watching the original trilogy. I must've watched it passively like a hundred times. When we played in the woods, our enhanced hearing often idly picked up on the TV - it was actually quite a good training exercise - but more often than not, we'd get confused because of Chewie's... sounds? I can even remember thinking that he was a really powerful werewolf. You should watch them again and just listen to his 'dialogue'. For an actor just making a silly noises, his performance is actually quite visceral. Sometimes we even thought one of our pack was in trouble when they escape from Hoth in 'Empire." He smiled; there was no way Laura could've genuinely be fooled by that, she must've just been playing along. Derek hadn't actually intended on articulating some giant justification for his decision to name Chewbacca as his favorite character, but it kind of felt nice knowing that Stiles could at least sympathise with both the werewolf and the Star Wars aspect of his little story - he hadn't met too many 'supernaturals' since the fire that were really interested in popular culture. They mostly just brooded and plotted their evil plans, and it seemed like most normal people just watched the Star Wars series once, on a re-run, when they had nothing else to do on a lazy Sunday.

Stiles was astounded by this. Derek Hale could genuinely smile. And he loved Star Wars as much as Stiles did. He felt like pinching himself. Seriously. They must've been ambushed or something. Maybe they were knocked out or Derek had been trodden in some wolfsbane. Could wolfsbane induce some psychedelia? He digressed, though that clearly warranted some investigation from Deaton. "So if you're Chewie, that must make Han, surely?" He winked, cracking a playful smile.

"Don't get cocky, kid," Derek was now properly grinning. Up until now he hadn't had anything in common with the weedy little spazz, yet he had just willfully quoted Han Solo to him. Perhaps he was hallucinating on wolfsbane.

"Dude, seriously. Blowing. My. Mind. I didn't know you were actually interesting! This changes everything!" He made the explosion gesture again. Derek looked as if he was actually entertained. His face looked happy and everything. Stiles could probably count the amount of times he'd seen Derek legitimately smile on one hand. And most of those times it was usually when Stiles had gotten something wrong or had tripped over. What an unbelievable asshole. King of the Assholes; President of the Asshole Association. Other than this shock discovery, the only other thing he really had going for him was his physique... and his hair. And his surprisingly modern fashion sense. But God help him when he's all wrinkly and old.

Before they had the chance to further geek out, the moment's silence was claimed by the basic ringtone on Derek's phone. "Scott. Any trouble?" 

"Nope! We've sweeped the place. I've called Deaton; he's had no new customers. Did you and Stiles hear anything?"

"No, it looks like they weren't looking for trouble."

"Alright, we'll head home then. Hey - do you think you could hold off any random supernatural events 'til friday? All of these late night run-arounds you've been taking us on aren't doing any good for my grades."

Derek tensed his brow and sighed. "Yes, Scott. If trouble comes, I'll just tell them to reschedule for non-school nights."

Unsurprisingly, Scott ended the call with a "Thanks, jerk."

Derek turned back towards Stiles with a slightly apologetic frown "Uhh... Yeah. I may have wasted your -"

Stiles interrupted with a "Asshole."

\- time," he scratched into his hair as his eyes shifted away "Sorry, Stiles."

Stiles curled the corner of his mouth and nodded slightly in appreciation. "At least we've discovered that you actually have some redeemable, human qualities."

Derek's expression dulled. "Don't push it," he beckoned with his hand "Come on, I'll give you a lift home. Wouldn't want the Sheriff coming to arrest me. Again." Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek's smug smile on their brisk walk back. He wondered whether he'd actually get used to seeing Derek using a more colourful range emotions. He clung on to the hope that he would - For all of his blatant faults, Derek had seemed like a decent guy, for a brief moment, at least.

The drive back was relatively quick at that time of night. The car was silent as both men sank into their thoughts; Derek had felt somewhat guilty for having taken Stiles with him. It turned out that perhaps there were some 'redeemable, human qualities' in Stiles too. He admitted that he hadn't exactly treated Stiles like a person, more of a plaything. Though equally, it was rather fun to see what he'd do once he'd been wound up. He sighed as he silently agreed that perhaps it'd be more worthwhile to make some sort of effort in talking to him.

Soon enough, Derek pulled to the side of the road and unlocked the car doors. Stiles opened the door and began to shuffle out, but not before Derek could offer a pat to shoulder accompanied with a sincere "Thanks." and a hand raised in a motionless wave.

Fortunately, most of the lights in the houses were still on, meaning that it wasn't late enough for Stiles' dad to reprimand him. He had sworn, after all, that he wouldn't bunk off school tomorrow on the condition that he could go help with pack business.


	2. A Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles ventures back into his dreams.

Stiles had hoped that his exhaustion would carry him to a restful sleep that night. The last couple of weeks following the whole ‘Nogitsune debacle’, he’d found it increasingly hard to sleep uninterrupted. He no longer felt the presence of the spirit’s consciousness tugging him down towards the murky, black recesses of his mind, but that didn’t seem to relieve him of the burden. Following his survival, an innate instinct, morbid curiosity or perhaps another influence had often led him there in his dreams, and sometimes even in idle thought.

It was always the dead of night. He’d be at the edge of a forest, approaching a broad lake smothered in the moon’s kisses. The air was still; a mist could be seen unfurling over the silver of the lake. The water was never cold, nor did it object with sound upon entry. His clothes never dampened; his trainers never became soggy, his jeans withheld their normal position. He’d feel a low hum ringing in his ears as he ventured further. The stars would mock him and avert their gaze, leaving only the moon to pity him.

Initially, the lake itself was always shallow. He’d reach the centre effortlessly within only a couple of minutes. The hum would devour his thoughts, leaving him alone with the broad moon, which seemed to envelop the sky. Eventually, a feeling of dread would be conjured in the pit of his stomach, as he’d feel the world closing in around him; the forest would float away into nothingness as if it were ink marbling in water. He’d scream and rave into the night until finally the moon itself would be swallowed into the void. He’d search in vain for that lost treasure, but only ever found his own echo wailing back at his cries. The waters would then rise and he would sink into the black abyss, his voice left floating at the surface. 

This is where all of the revolting dust floated, it clogged his vision. The Nogitsune had been vanquished, but the scars remained. During the brief time they’d been united, the dark spirit had relished in torturing Stiles with occasional access to his own eyes. It wanted him to see the pain he was inflicting on so many innocent lives; he would drink in the colour of the world, just to be reminded that he would forever be condemned to the darkness of the lake. In their union, the Nogitsune freely rummaged throughout Stiles’ mind, becoming inspired by the sinister motions that would bubble to the surface of the lake. Stiles figured that was how the Nogitsune seemed effortless in the execution of his plans – he could always adapt based on Stiles’ knowledge and memories.

But in the wake of the Nogitsune’s endeavours, its mind had bled into the lake. This is what had consumed Stiles’ subsequent dreams. He could see and feel everything it had done with resounding clarity; Allison’s death perhaps the most prominent. Stiles understood that he had never been even remotely blamed for her or any other person’s demise during that time, but he still clung to that guilt, at least during these dreams, where he was haunted by the remnants of the Nogitsune: Even in defeat, it had found victory.

What Stiles had seemingly neglected, however, was that this Nogitsune was ancient. His footprints were a stain that had corroded into the very fabric of the world. Occasionally, he would slip into the eyes of those who came before. It had worn many faces, and shattered many minds. Stiles was never proud to admit that, in truth, the repetition of these disturbing events could only ever do so much damage; he felt as though he’d been reliving the tragedies of his life for as long as he could remember – the Nogitsune was only a continuation of this. He was comforted by the notion that logically, harming a damaged thing was a somewhat superfluous activity. He conceded that yes, this would obviously further mutilate that… thing, but at least the satisfaction and effects derived from that damage would be to a lesser extent. On the first few nights, this is all that he had needed to allow his guilt and loss to float away; the lake would ebb with it. The heavens would shine, the stars would dance and laugh above him. The forest would stir and the moon’s gaze would shroud him once more, granting him the peace of an empty dream, or lift him back to consciousness. But in recent times, and tonight especially, he confessed that this argument was flawed. He had been broken for a long time. The Nogitsune had fed on his darkest thoughts and ripped open an otherwise healed wound. Just knowing that he had the capacity for such sinister thoughts disturbed him to his core.

When he could no longer bear to swallow the foul, torturous concoction of his own fears and the remnants of the Nogitsune, he would awake in a panic. It felt as if he’d actually been drowning and water lingered in his lungs as it had in his mind. His own voice and the comfort of the sky escaped his grasp.

It took several minutes of steady breathing to calm Stiles back to a normal, if that was the correct word for a sufferer of anxiety and ADHD, state of consciousness. He had weathered the storm that had come for him, for that he was glad. But now he was left alone, clutching at his duvet. It was times like these that he lamented his father’s conversion to a single bed following his mother’s passing. He could really do with one of those warm Stilinski hugs. Though, after everything he’s been through, he understood now more than ever why his father hated the feeling of that empty space next to him. Usually, people, including Stiles, always found it inside them to complain about the size of their bed. But he realised now that the sensation of being surrounded by nothingness was not one of comfort. For him, it felt as though the void possessed the potential to absorb his very being. He was truly alone. He assumed that’s what his father felt too, having spent so many years next to the woman he loved, when she was gone, that space was an empty reminder of what had been.

Unable to lie comfortably in that knowledge, he found himself pacing around his bedroom. His eyes had adjusted just enough to make out the figures in the posters that plastered his wall. After some careful examination, he was drawn to the soft light that pierced the window. He drew his chair against the wall and kneeled on top of it. He rested his chin against his folded arms which lay on the windowsill. He was enthralled by the night sky and how it blanketed the world below. The pale white in the stars would glance off of windows, and grazed the orange of the streetlights. His slow breaths clouded the view in front of him in a haze of condensation. Soon, the faintest promise of blue indicated that the night was drawing to a close, much to Stiles’ relief. He watched with eagerness as the black and white retreated from the orange and blue, as night turned to day.

From that point, the hours blended together until he felt it was time for breakfast. After fulfilling his daily ablutions, he ventured downstairs. To his surprise, he found his father sleepily drinking a cup of coffee against the counter. He greeted him with a groggy “Hey, kiddo,” and straightened his posture. Clearing his throat, “Good sleep?” was all the Sheriff could muster in this drowsy state.

“Uh, yeah. You?” It might not have seemed like it, but Stiles hated lying to his dad. The whole ‘werewolf thing’ almost killed him inside. They had always shared their secrets. He felt as though these… nightmares, however, were too inappropriate for him. He really didn’t have it in him to pile even more stress on top of the mountain his dad was burdened with.

“Not bad. Back’s killing me, though. It’s looking like another full day at the office for me. Maybe some rest’ll do it good.” He smiled into his cup. “Fancy anything to eat before I go?” Stiles shook his head and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. He moved into the kitchen and started assorting the pills that he’d require for the day. “Alrighty, then. I’ll be off,” He finished his coffee and scoffed the remainder of his breakfast, moving over to Stiles and giving him that Stilinski hug that Stiles had yearned for in the hours prior. He patted Stiles’ hair and headed for the front door, coat swung over his shoulder, and exited. Stiles sighed as he readied himself for a full day at school.

The day blurred past as lessons blended together in their usual mundane way. Somehow, Stiles had found himself sat in the cafeteria going for a record attempt at seeing how many of Kira’s grapes he could fit into his mouth, much to the delight of those around the table. Such was his life in recent times – he’d become even more absent minded than usual – but always found solace in his friends (He was the best at telling jokes, after all). Nonetheless, he had no idea what had brought him to this situation. Had he been dared? It didn’t really matter, though, as soon enough he could really fit no more grapes in without choking, “Seventeen!” according to Kira and Danny. Fortunately, Lydia, who seemed both appalled and entertained, was on hand with tissues to wipe away all of the saliva that had dribbled down him.

Even though what he’d done was gross, by his standards at least, Stiles had a brief moment of contentment as he looked around the table. Lydia was stifling glee as she finished with the tissues, pushing them to the centre of the table. Isaac had stood up to avoid one of the tissues that had accidentally blown his way, picking up the small ball and inspecting it. His laughter betrayed his wrinkled nose as he pointed out a significant pool of drool oozing down the tissue. Then there was Danny and Kira, holding each other in fits of hysterical laughter. Though the two of them had only joined the ‘pack’ recently, it was clear that they were perfectly suited to Stiles’ level of humour. Scott was noticeably absent; Coach had him caught up with lacrosse tactics. According to Isaac and Lydia, Malia had been put in detention for, well, he couldn’t remember why, but this was Malia after all. He looked out from behind his friends to the other tables in the cafeteria that stared back in disgust, as if they were a pack of delusional monkeys.

It must’ve been a few minutes of absent wonder before he resumed in the group’s interactions. It appeared that Kira and Isaac were trying to convince Danny to take up one of their respective fighting styles; Isaac had his fists drawn close to his face, throwing light punches into the air whereas Kira was slicing with open palms. In that moment he realised that Lydia was ignoring this argument, instead looking directly at Stiles with upturned eyebrows and a sympathetic pout. “Is there still some grape left on my face?” Stiles asked, wiping his hand around his mouth.

Lydia didn’t respond immediately, shaking her head and producing a soft smile “Are you okay, Stiles? You seem… I don’t know… More lost than usual?” Her arm lifted from her lap and gently rubbed Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles appreciated the warmth that emanated from her touch. Her gentle way of making contact was one of the immediate origins of his crush on her all those years ago. Had she done this only a short while back, Stiles was sure that he’d have been rendered catatonic. “I’m fine, Lydia. Seriously. Just a bit tired, you know? I didn’t catch much sleep last n-“

Lydia sharply interrupted under her breath “I knew that wasn’t going to end well.” She shook her head once more.

Stiles inferred that she was talking about last night’s run (or lack thereof) around. “No, no. It’s not that, really, I-“

“Stiles,” She shushed him, patting his shoulder. “Me and Derek tried to tell Scott that you’re not just going to be able to bounce back after what’s happened.” A confused expression was painted across Stiles’ face. “Yesterday, before we called you out, we met up to discuss whether you were ready for action. I hope you don’t take any offence to this, but Derek and I can at least sympathise with what you’ve experienced. We felt it best to let you find us when you were willing… But Scott didn’t agree. We’re all still reeling from Allison’s passing,” Lydia sighed and ruffled through Stiles’ unkempt hair. “I think Scott is blaming himself because he’s the Alpha. If anything, he just wants to make sure that you’re safe. He knows that he definitely couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you. I think he wants you back so that he can feel normal again. We tried to make him understand our view, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s the Alpha.” She shrugged and briefly turned her head back towards the group. Lydia lifted her head slightly before returning her face to Stiles’ “Though, Derek did have him make one concession: That you’d accompany him to the preserve instead of the rest of us. He told me afterwards that at least you’d be able to breathe and you wouldn’t have to deal with any immediate stress,” Her bottom lip faintly protruded for a moment. Lydia then dragged Stiles into an otherwise unwarranted, but friendly hug. “But it looks like that didn’t help much. Stiles, have you seen yourself lately? I don’t mean to be rude, but your skin’s losing its…“ Lydia mustered a somewhat sarcastic tone “…‘Natural Stilinski quality’.”

Dumbfounded, Stiles was at a loss for things to say. He felt a bit insulted that his three friends were treating him like an invalid, but simultaneously flattered by the concept. He was then even more confused by the idea that he’d just referred to Lydia, the former ‘love of his life’, and Derek, the emotionally detached supermodel (who still struck a quiet fear in Stiles, though he’d never admit that to anyone) as his friends. In hindsight, though the nightmare had still caught him, he had appreciated that meditative time in the forest. He thought he was frustrated with Derek’s stoic nature, but it was actually quite calming. Given that his other options would’ve been to either stay home or run around needlessly with his overly anxious friends, he felt grateful that Derek had stepped in. 

When Lydia pulled away from the hug, he found himself looking down at his chest. He noticed how the clothes he was wearing did hang somewhat loose, and the skin on the back of his hand was uncharacteristically white. He smiled back at Lydia “I’ll have to get to work on that. Thanks, Lyd. Really.”

They returned to the conversation that had apparently continued behind them to find Isaac and Kira leaning over Danny to have an arm wrestle. Over the grunts and strains between the werewolf and the kitsune, Danny acknowledged them. “Don’t worry, you really haven’t missed anything. At all.” This confession prompted laughter to erupt from the table once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lag between updates! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any criticism from which I can continue to base my work (being a complete noob, it'd be best to iron out any gaps whilst I still have the chance). Thanks! :D


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